After the kiss, something shifted between Mia and Noah—but in the best way.

They still laughed, still joked, still sipped coffee and shared silly stories—but now, their hands often found each other’s, and their smiles lingered just a little longer.

Each morning, Mia would stop by the café before work. Noah would always have her coffee ready, sometimes with a note on the cup:

“You’re my favorite part of today.”

“This drink is sweet—but you’re sweeter.”

“Can’t wait to see your smile.”

And Mia would blush every time.

Sometimes she stayed late after work to help Noah close the café. They’d wipe tables, sweep floors, and then sit together on the counter, talking until the stars filled the sky.

One night, Noah turned to her.

“Do you ever wonder how things worked out like this?” he asked. “Like… what if you hadn’t walked in that day?”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Mia said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Because I’m here now. With you.”

He wrapped an arm around her. “With me.”

---

January brought quiet evenings and frozen windows. Mia started writing in a journal—just little things. Moments that made her smile. Her favorite was something Noah had said during a snowstorm:

“Love feels like this café—warm, safe, and full of good things.”

Sometimes, they cooked together in the small kitchen at the back of the café. Mia would wear an apron too big for her, and Noah would joke that she was a five-star chef every time she scrambled eggs.

One night, while making pancakes, Mia paused.

“Noah,” she said, “I used to feel like I didn’t belong anywhere. Like I was always looking for something I couldn’t name.”

“And now?”

She smiled, looking at him. “Now I know. I was looking for you.”

He held her close.

“And I was waiting for you.”